The next morning Juliette said to me:
"It has been a long time since you saw Monsieur Lirat. I don't want him to think that I keep you from visiting him."
It was true, nevertheless. It really seemed as if for the last five months, I had forgotten all about poor Lirat. But had I really forgotten him? Alas no! … Shame kept me from going to him. … Shame alone estranged me from him. … I assure you that I would have never hesitated to announce to the whole world: "I am Juliette's lover!"; but I had not the courage to utter these words in Lirat's presence.
At first I had a notion to confess all to him, no matter what happened to our friendship. … I would say to myself: "all right, tomorrow I am going to see Lirat" … I would make up my mind firmly. … And the next day: "Not now … there is nothing pressing … tomorrow! … " Tomorrow, always tomorrow! … And days, weeks, months passed. … Tomorrow!
Now that he had been told all about these things by Malterre, who even before my departure used to come and make his sofa groan, how could I broach the subject to him? … What could I say to him? … How endure his look, his contempt, his anger. … His anger, perhaps! … But his contempt, his terrible silence, the disconcerting sneer which I already saw taking shape at the corner of his mouth. … No, no, really I did not dare! … To try to mollify him, to take his hand, to ask his forgiveness for my lack of confidence in him, to appeal to the generosity of his heart! … No! It would ill become me to assume such a part, and then Lirat with just one word could throw a damper on me and stop my effusion. … What's the use! … Each day that passed separated us further, estranged us from each other more and more … a few more months and there would no longer be any Lirat to reckon with in my life! … I should prefer that rather than cross his threshold and face him in person. … I replied to Juliette:
"Lirat? … Oh yes. … I think I'll do that some of these days!"
"No, no!" insisted Juliette. … "Today! You know him, you know how mean he is. God knows how many ugly things he must have said about us!"
I had to make up my mind to see him. From the Rue de Balzac to Rodrigue Place is but a short distance. To postpone as long as possible the moment of this painful interview I made a long detour on my way, walking as far as the shop district of the Saint Honoré suburb. And I was thinking to myself: "Suppose I don't go to see Lirat at all. I can tell her, when I come back, that we have quarrelled, and I can invent some sort of a story that will forever relieve me of the necessity of this visit." I felt ashamed of this boyish thought. … Then I hoped that Lirat was not at home! With what joy could I then roll up my card into a tube and slip it through the keyhole! Comforted by this thought I at last turned in the direction of Rodrigue Place and stopped in front of the door of the studio—and this door seemed to fill me with fear. Still I rapped at it and presently a voice, Lirat's voice, called:
"Come in!"
My heart beat furiously, a bar of fire stopped my throat—I wanted to flee. …
"Come in!" the voice repeated.
I turned the door knob.
"Ah! Is that you, Mintié," Lirat exclaimed. "Come on in."
Lirat was seated at his table, writing a letter.
"May I finish this?" he said to me. "Just two more minutes and I'll be through."
He resumed writing. It was a relief not to feel upon myself the chill of his look. I took advantage of the fact that his back was turned to unburden my soul to him.
"I have not seen you for such a long time, my good Lirat."
"Why, yes, my dear Mintié!"
"I have moved."
"Ah, is that so!"
"I live on the Rue de Balzac."
"Nice place!"
I was suffocating. … I made a supreme effort to gather all my strength … but by a strange aberration I thought I would succeed better by adopting a flippant method of approach. Upon my word of honor! I railed, yes, railed at myself.
"I have come to tell you some news which will amuse you. … Ha! … Ha! … which will amuse you … I am sure … I … I … live with Juliette. … Ha! … Ha! … with Juliette Roux … Juliette, you know. … Ha! Ha!"
"Congratulations!" He uttered this word "congratulations" in a perfectly calm, indifferent voice. … Was it possible! No hiss, no anger, no jumping at me! … Just "Congratulations! … " As one might say: "how do you expect that to interest me?" And his back bent over the table remained motionless without straightening up, without stirring! … His pen did not slip from his hand; he continued to write! What I told him just now he had known long ago. … But to hear it out of my own mouth! … I was stupefied—and shall I confess it?—I was wounded by the fact that the matter did not seem to affect him at all! … Lirat rose and rubbing his hands:
"Well! what's new?" he asked.
I could not stand it any longer. I rushed toward him with tears in my eyes.
"Listen to me," I shouted sobbing. "Lirat, for God's sake, listen to me. … I did not act fairly toward you. … I know it … and I ask your forgiveness. … I should have told you all. … But I did not have the courage to. … You frighten me. … And then … you remember Juliette, the one you told me about, right here … you remember … she is the one who kept me from doing that. … Do you understand?"
"My dear Mintié," interrupted Lirat, "I did not want you to tell me anything. I am neither your father nor your confessor. Do what you please, that does not concern me in the least."
I became excited.
"You are not my father, that is true … but you are my friend … and I owe you all the confidence in the world. … Forgive me! … Yes, I live with Juliette, and I love her and she loves me! … Is it a crime to seek a little happiness? … Juliette is not the kind of a woman you thought she was … she has been calumniated most odiously, Lirat. … She is kind and honest. … Oh, don't smile … she is honest! … She has some childish ways about her that would touch even you, Lirat. You don't like her because you don't know her. … If you only knew how kind and considerate she is to me! Juliette wants me to work. … She ardently believes in me, in my ability to create. … Why it was she who sent me here to see you. I was ashamed and afraid. … Yes she made me do that! Have a little consideration for her, Lirat. Love her a little, I beg of you!"
Lirat became grave. He put his hand on my shoulder and, looking at me wistfully:
"My dear child!" he said to me in a trembling voice, "why do you tell me all that?"
"Because it is the truth, my dear Lirat! … because I love you and I want to remain your friend. … Show me that you are my friend no matter what happens … Here now, come to have dinner with us this evening, as we used to in the past, in my own house. Oh, please come!"
"No," he said.
And this "no" was relentless, final, curt, like a gunshot.
Lirat added:
"But you come often! … And whenever you feel like crying … the sofa is there … you know. … The tears of poor devils are quite known to it."
When the door was shut behind me, it seemed that something huge and heavy had closed itself upon my past, that walls higher than the sky and darker than the night had separated me forever from my decent life, from my dreams of art. There was anguish in my whole being. … For a minute I stood there, stupefied, with swinging arms, with eyes inordinately distended, staring at that prophetic door behind which something had just come to a close, something had just died.
CHAPTER VI